My Life in Forbidden Lhasa
I never ceased to wonder at the variety of
goods available in Lhasa bazaars: brick tea,
silks, and brocades from China; American
cosmetics and fountain pens; aluminum and
copper ware (page 34), luxurious furs, Swiss
watches, yak meat and butter, and ornaments
of the dark Tibetan gold that is still scratched
from the earth with gazelle horns.
At dusk each evening I found everyone
promenading around the Barkhor, a main
street that encircles Tibet's holiest cathedral,
the Tsug Lag Khang. I passed flirts and pil
grims, smelled sacred incense and barley beer.
Laughter echoed with the cathedral's per
petual chorus of drumbeats, oboes, and deep
throated prayers.
Monk Offers Support
The fascination of our daily explorations
could not erase the uncertainty of our posi
tion. First, we needed permission to remain
in Lhasa. If that was granted, we would still
face the necessity of earning a living. And
then, one day on the street, a servant in a
scarlet-fringed hat stopped us. He stuck out
his tongue and hissed, that most surprising
Tibetan gesture of respect, and announced
that his master wanted to see us (page 45).
The Triinyi Chemo, one of the monk secre
taries who supervise Tibet's priesthood, ques
tioned us about our education. Aufschnaiter's
experience as an agricultural engineer seemed
to impress him.
"I would like to see you stay," he said. "We
in Tibet could use men like you. Unhappily,
everyone does not share my opinion. I will
speak for you. But do not be hopeful."
Despite the warning, his promise of support
heightened our hopes. A monk patron would
be most helpful to our appeal, because the all
powerful Tibetan priesthood normally resists
foreign intrusions.
Next day, Aufschnaiter and I made formal
calls on the four members of the Kashag, or
grand cabinet. These dignitaries are respon
sible only to the Dalai Lama and the Regent.
Entitled Shapes, they manage the secular af
fairs of the country (page 28). We told them
of our willingness to work for the Government
and urged them to support our plea for
asylum.
While we waited for the Regent, spring
breathed upon Lhasa. The Hair of Buddha,
a venerable weeping willow at the cathedral's
gate, turned golden green. Tender shoots
spread an emerald haze along the Kyi River.
With spring came the dust storms. Every
one rushed for home when the cloud rolled
up the valley. The Potala disappeared in the
swirls of prying, suffocating powder.
Tsarong Shape, one of the dominant figures
in 20th-century Tibet, invited us to move
into his own palatial home. This shrewd man
had been a favorite of the preceding Dalai
Lama (the 13th), a member of the Kashag,
and commander in chief of the Tibetan Army.
The Government gave him vast estates. He
fell from favor, but clung to his wealth and
rank. We knew him as Master of the Mint.
We had been settled in our new residence
only a week when we received an urgent
message:
"The Austrians must leave the country im
mediately. Such is the decision of the
Regent."
The order was catastrophic. Not only did
it condemn us to further wanderings, but the
sciatica which I had developed on our long
marches in 30-below-zero weather had grown
worse. At times I could hardly move.
We composed a long appeal for postpone
ment. The reply came immediately in the
form of an army lieutenant and three sol
diers. The officer had orders to escort us
to India, he announced, and we must be
ready to leave the next day.
In desperation, Aufschnaiter insisted that
the Government ask the British Legation's
medical officer to examine me. Reluctantly
the authorities agreed. The British physician
promptly certified that I could not possibly
travel. He gave me injections, but I found
more comfort in an exercise prescribed by a
lama: rolling a stick beneath my bare feet.
Religious Frenzy Sweeps Lhasa
For a time we heard no more about expul
sion. Fortunately for us, the officials had
more important things to occupy their atten
tion.
March had come, and with it the
greatest of Tibetan celebrations, the New
Year Festival.
Tibet's New Year started with a roar. An
avalanche of 20,000 red-robed monks streamed
into the holy city, doubling its population.
The cacophony of prayers, drums, and cym
bals echoed night and day.
I dragged myself to the roof of Tsarong's
mansion and watched the city whip itself into
a religious frenzy. Work stopped. Offices
were closed. Men and women appeared in
their newest silks and brocades.
Cabinet